


Above in the open sky and down in the desert

by aprilclash



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Just Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, also language, mentions of sex workers, people trapped in golden trinkets i guess, there is literally zero plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilclash/pseuds/aprilclash
Summary: Of course, Sehun didn't like the idea of stealing from a warlock. Not-exactly-a-warlock, Junmyeon had said, but someone who deals with magic is a dangerous someone and Sehun had not spent the past twenty years steering away from danger the best he could only to start beef with someone who could potentially fry his ass if things turned sour (and they would turn sour, eventually).Or, Sehun is a terrible liar and Jongdae is a very good one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my soulmate lj user januarys-lovers! ilu hon ♥  
> There's nothing I can say about this fic. I wanted to write porn and I did it. That's it, that's the fic. Don't look for a plot please. There is none.  
> Also the title comes from the Italian song "Io vorrei... non vorrei... ma se vuoi" by Lucio Battisti roughly translated in English by myself. (Also I believe it's the second time I name one of my sechen fics after the lyrics of this song lol)
> 
> Enjoy~

The bed smells of jasmine and honey, like clean and new, like a dream Sehun wouldn’t have known how to dream when he was a child. It creaks and gives up slightly under Sehun’s weight when he squirms, so soft Sehun feels like he’s sinking in it while staying still altogether. He clutches the sheets, crumpling them in his fists to keep his body from sliding forward, but it’s useless. Silk and sweat don’t mix well and so he drowns in smooth, liquid fabric, in jasmine and honey. He drowns in pleasure.

Sehun is a son of the Ditch, born and raised in the abusive slums of what used to be the moat surrounding the city. There was water, a long time ago, and a drawbridge to keep the invaders away, but that was before the great drought turned the hills around the city in a dead, deathly desert where not even the raiders dare to live. It happened many, many years before Sehun was even born. There are no invaders nowadays, but there is still water in the galleries underground. It resurfaces when it rains and the earth cries mud and wet dirt. Sometimes, if the downpour lasts for too long, the underground stream floods and engulfs the Ditch forcing the poor souls living there to climb over the roofs of their shacks like drowned rats surrounded by black water.

Like most of the renegade, dirty, hungry kids who roam the streets of the Ditch, Sehun learnt to swim quite early and completely on his own. In the Ditch, either you do everything on your own or you die. Sehun can swim, he can hold his breath for two minutes in the dirty, smelly water and he knows every corner, every gully and every gutter of the filthy desolated slums that raised him like a son. He knows how to pickpocket and lie and bully the girls of the House of Charity into letting him sleep in their basement when someone is looking forward to beating the crap out of him. He’s good at convincing the other wee kids of the Ditch, sons and daughters of no one, into running errands for him. He doesn’t know how to punch a man, but he knows how to run away from a fight. (He knows how to stab, to choke, to poison and he knows how to survive, he’s a natural really.)

Sehun knows many things, but he doesn’t know jasmine and honey. The Ditch only smells of blood, sweat, dirt and come, all mixed with the strong tang of spices coming from the black bazaar, where you can buy dragon bones, the services of a necromancer for two hours, a still beating human heart or a slave with her mouth sewn shut for the same amount of copper. It’s no place for honey and jasmine, or for laughter and smiles. 

Honey and jasmine are for the people of the Garland, with their fair, rustling silks, their golden anklets and tiaras, bright skin and brighter smiles. So soft, so naive, so easily deceived by a pretty face and a pair of pink lips wrapped around a cock.

That was the plan. Fuck the man, steal the artefact, get the fuck out. It was a terrible plan, but it’s the only plan he had and now Sehun is fucked, literally and figuratively. He stifles a moan against the sheets and the man above him chuckles slightly. His cock twitches, impossibly close, impossibly deep inside Sehun. He pulls back and thrusts inside and this time not even the silk sheets can muffle the low, guttural moan that escapes Sehun’s lips.

“That’s more like it… I like it when you’re loud,” purrs Jongdae, and Sehun is glad they’re not facing each other so he can hide his flash of annoyance and want. He didn’t expect Jongdae to be so good at this. The girls of the House of Charity told him people from the Garland make stiff, awkward sex, soft and delicate and beautiful. Seulgi said they like to pet her head and hold her hands, Sehun’s sister told him they like to call her sweet names and lick the sweat from her throat. Donghae from the House of Modesty said the scented oil they use to prepare him makes everything too slippery for his liking.

Sehun expected that kind of gentleness, of care, of finesse even. But Jongdae fucks to destroy, to mark and ruin, to burn and leave behind barren land that will not bear fruits for a long time. Jongdae is all painful friction and the violent, almost cathartic way he pushes and breaches until Sehun’s body makes space for him. He covers Sehun’s back with his own and mounts him like a dog, biting at his shoulder and pushing Sehun’s head down. He keeps it there with a firm hand on Sehun’s shoulder blades while he drives inside him hard and fast.

“You’re not from the Garland, are you?” had asked Sehun the first time they met. Jongdae wore white silk and there was the tinkling shine of gold at his left wrist. But his eyes were like old wells full of monsters and the edges of his laugh were too sharp.

Now that he’s seen Jongdae out of his airy, luscious clothes countless times, Sehun has no doubt. Jongdae may live in the Garland, but he wasn’t born at the top of the city. He’s too unpolished, too raw. Tiny little pox scars mar his shoulders, together with the signs of an old flogging. It’s almost invisible to the eye, but Sehun’s hands recognize the kiss of the whip, so common amongst the kids of the Ditch. Jongdae flips him over every time Sehun touches his scars with curious fingers. He’s on Sehun before he can ask, before he can guess. His hands are rough on Sehun’s hips and the way he smiles is electric, dangerous.

He fucks Sehun into the mattress, unrelenting and strong, using the leverage to push deeper, harder, keeping him pinned down with his weight and the searing burn of his cock scraping inside Sehun. It’s rough and brutal and incredibly satisfying ad Sehun moans, low, closing his eyes to keep the pleasure from swimming inside them. He could come just like this, pushed over the edge by the low burn in his belly and the way his dick chafes against the sheets.

Except everything is still too soft, too slippery. He eventually loses his grip on the sheets and he can only swallow a curse as he slides forward, pushed towards the wall by the strength of Jongdae’s thrusts. His head falls against the mattress and the fabric, damp with sweat, welcomes his moans. He’s close, close enough that if he keeps his eyes shut he can see the storm playing behind his eyelids, the waves crashing down on him.

Jongdae drives inside him once, twice, then, with a low curse, he slips out. And Sehun’s orgasm falls back, dragged away by the undertow. He whines, turning back to snap at Jongdae or beg him, whatever gets him to get the fuck back between Sehun’s legs, but Jongdae pulls him up.

“Turn around, like this. Good boy,” he says, when Sehun eagerly opens his legs and pulls him down between them again. He can feel the sparks when Jongdae pushes inside, the energy between them. Sehun’s body is a copper conductor and Jongdae is the raging lightning, the flash and the thunder. The golden cuff at Jongdae’s left wrist seems to hum in the darkness. It catches the light of a candle for a moment and shimmers with restrained power.

Jongdae curses again and stutters, losing his rhythm. He kisses Sehun messily and hungrily and his hands travel down Sehun’s body, on his neck, chest and stomach, and Sehun can feel himself twitch and spasm as the words shrinks to the size and shape of Jongdae’s hand when it finally closes around his cock. He explodes in Jongdae’s right fist with a shower of white light shining in front of him, inside him, in the satisfied, victorious smile Jongdae is sporting as he comes too.

They collapse together and Jongdae rolls away from Sehun with a grunt, settling on the bed next to him. Jongdae has never been a fan of lazy kisses, or of laziness in general, but he does like angry kisses, bruising Sehun’s throat and his collarbones, playing with his nipples until he cries out, spent but still sensitive. 

Not today, though. It’s too hot to play again, too humid. It rains on the Garland, on pretty houses and ivory towers. The Ditch will probably be flooded. Best time to commit a crime, knowing that the mud will swallow all the traces.

Jongdae pours himself wine and he drinks it. He doesn’t ask whether Sehun wants some and the boy is thankful for that. He doesn’t want to lie more than he already has. 

He waits until Jongdae has fallen asleep. Lying stiffly on the bed, he listens carefully for itches in his breath, but hears nothing. Jongdae breathes deeply, long and calm, the faintest hint of a snore on the exhale. Gold flashes at his wrist, whispering of secrets and curses.

Sehun gets up. He has a job to do.

~

Sehun can’t remember a time when he was not hungry, or cold, or in pain. Alone.

Things have changed, of course. He has changed. He has money and influence now, not a lot but enough to survive. He has... allies. But that feeling of helplessness never disappeared. It lingered, at the bottom of his eyes, like a relic hidden by black waters for years. Sehun amasses money under his bed and in holes in the wall, eats until his stomach is going to burst because who knows when he’ll see food again. He’d kill to protect his friends and he will always be wary of a world which can take everything from him in the span of a kiss. He will always be hungry, cold and in pain. He will always be alone. It’s in the cavities of his chest, the crevices between the bones, like a rash he can’t scratch, an old ache that makes his presence known when it rains.

It’s raining now, like a dragon relieving itself all over the city, the Ditch, the Garland and everything in between. Dirty water, foul and fetid for it comes from the marsh. People here in the Garland will scrunch their powdered noses. People in the Ditch will curse and swear and spit on the ground. Most houses will be submerged there. Not much damage will be done, because the people of the slums own close to nothing, not even their lives.

Sehun owns many lives, including his own, and he frowns, thinking about his young friends. The children will take care of themselves, he thinks, like they always do. He taught them well. Don’t bite more than you can chew, travel in groups, don’t follow any strangers and hide in the shadows of the shadows. Listen to everything. And tell me. His little network of ragtag kids does all the tough job of collecting information around the slums but Sehun, and now Seungcheol too, are the only ones experienced enough to sell it to the right people.

Well, the kids will have to listen to Seungcheol alone for a while, at least until Sehun’s return. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to come back to the Ditch and he doesn’t want to lead someone like Jongdae in the empty, ramshackle warehouse they call home. As pitiful and cold as it is, it’s still a safe place and Sehun can’t risk losing the only roof over their head. Where would the kids go if something were to happen?

One roof, another. He leaves behind the fair marbles of the garland, the balconies bursting with flowers and the wide colonnades, to jump on the red and brown shingles of the commercial district. The rain bites at his shoulders, slowing him down. One faux step and he could find himself on the ground, a broken bone or two and all the sentries of the neighborhood on him. No one has ever actually seen him doing anything wrong, but he’s from the Ditch and the guards are never kind to people like him. Also, he’s carrying stolen goods.

The bag at his side swings as he jumps from the roofs to the streets. Its feels heavy, too heavy for a simple golden trinket. It felt heavy on Jongdae’s wrist too, even heavier on Sehun’s hands as he slipped it off with a clank. The jug of wine too was heavy. Sehun emptied it on the streets and watched as the rain washed it away. Jongdae will probably realize he was drugged before he was robbed of his most precious possession, but at least he won’t find any proof of it.

He climbs over a tall wall, minding the barbed wire on top, and jumps down again. He lands in the courtyard behind the old, abandoned barracks, while thunder rumbles in the distance. A quick glance assures him no one is looking and he finally enters the empty building, walking in the shadows to stay invisible.

When Sehun was young enough to have never tasted the whip, the troops assigned to the defense of the city were stationed here, in this wide and stern building in the Fourth Crown. It’s part of the fortification, so it was still inside the borders of the city, but close enough to the Ditch to allow the soldiers to assess the situation and intervene when needed. Six years ago though, after an incident during the New Year’s celebration (three women from the Garland, one noblewoman and her two handmaids, killed in front of the house they had just visited while they tried to come back to their homes) the Minister of the War moved the headquarters of the militia in the Second Crown, closer to the Garland, to better ensure the safety of the court. The Ditch has been abandoned to its own devices even since, but it’s not like its inhabitants mind. The law has always been nothing more than a hinder to them.

Sehun remembers the first time he was dragged into this building. A guard caught him, wet behind the ears and red-handed, lifting the pouch of one of the merchants in the market of the Third Crown. Sehun wasn’t used to the neat and tidy streets of the city inside the walls. It was too strange and unfamiliar, too calm, too far from the Ditch and from every escape route he could use. But Sehun also knew that while being caught in the normal market might’ve costed him a flogging, being caught stealing in the Ditch’s bazaar would end up in certain death at the hands of one of the random necromancers, butchers, drunk raiders or unregistered warlocks. No one steals from the Bazaar. But Sehun was hungry and hopeless, so he went inside the walls and of course they caught him, because he was too careless and he thought robbing unaware merchants would be easy. They put iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles and they took him to the barracks to be beaten and questioned, to receive a quick trial and be punished immediately. He was fourteen back then, all shaky limbs and croaking voice. It’s been six years.

Sehun’s employer is waiting, sitting on what used to be his desk when this building was still in use. It’s the first time Sehun’s seen him without his uniform on. He looks different. Gentler. He could easily pass for someone’s brother or someone’s lover, not someone’s nightmare. He whistles low and the captain of the city militia raises his eyes from a book to stare at him. 

Pale memories swim around them. Captain Kim Junmyeon, son of the Minister of War, during his third month of service, six years ago, staring down at a prepubescent Sehun with steel eyes.

“Theft is no small thing, boy. You know the law, the hand that steals shall be cut.” He had smiled then, short, professional, and so cold. “But I could let you go if you tell me who’s behind the murder of those three women at the celebration.”

Sehun had hesitated. A boy without a hand will more likely be a dead boy in less than a week, but a boy who blows the whistle on the business of the Ditch is not expected to see tomorrow’s dawn, that was common knowledge.

“I will have you flogged. For hours. No one will ever suspect your involvement. And I will make sure to wait a few days before I catch that son of a bitch, what do you think? No one else will never know about this deal.”

A deal with the devil, thinks Sehun bitterly as the memory dissolves and Kim Junmyeon waves politely at him.

“I was starting to think you had run away with the artefact.”

“As if I could,” mutters Sehun, sitting in front of him and dumping the bag on the desk. “This is what you wanted. Can I go now? Before someone sees me here?”

Junmyeon scoffs. “And who would? I doubt one of your friends from the Ditch would be so bold to crawl out of the dirt just to come here in the middle of the storm.”

Typical of the people from the Garland, thinks Sehun, repressing a roll of his eyes. So arrogant, so lazy, so used to their comfortable life. Just because they can afford the luxury to stay in their big houses and not go out when it rains they assume the rest of the world gets the same privilege. People like Sehun usually learn to pay no mind to the rain since they’re wee children begging for food, a coin or an errand to run for a generous patron. They can’t afford to stay home when it’s raining, but it’s not something the leader of the militia can understand.

Sehun bites his tongue while Junmyeon takes his sweet time in opening the bag and extracting the single golden cuff Sehun stole from Jongdae. He admires it with greedy eyes and the metal shines under his gaze, as if alive.

“It’s really the one,” he says, after a quick analysis. “I’m honestly surprised. How did you manage to steal it? He never takes it off.”

“I have my secrets,” Sehun murmurs. Jongdae’s hands on his throat, his hips, stroking his thighs and his collarbones, his tongue delving into Sehun’s bellybutton. Jongdae’s cock inside him. (If Sehun shifts his weight, he can still feel the ache, the mess it left inside him.) “I did what you wanted. Can I go now?”

Junmyeon’s eyes flash in rage. “What if I say you can’t? You belong to me, don’t forget. I have allowed you to stay alive, to continue playing your little spy games with your young friends,” Sehun grits his teeth and the thought of the kids waiting for him at the warehouse hits him like a knife in the back. “Have you forgotten, boy?”

“You haven’t allowed me to stay alive. I earned that right fair and square!”

“Yes, by giving up one single name. You betrayed the trust of the Ditch. Oh really Sehun, don’t make that face. I know everything about the stupid rules you have set in that hellhole you call home. What would people do to you if they knew you’re a spy? A single word and I can have you dead by the morning.”

Sehun scoffs at the empty threat. “Then you wouldn’t have anyone to bully into giving you information and stealing stuff for you.”

“That’s not entirely true. The Ditch is full of homeless children who’d do that. What was the name of that girl you recruited two months ago? Yeri? How old is she? Six? How hungry must that poor child be? Do you think she would accept to work for me?”

Sehun doesn’t jump at Junmyeon’s throat, but only because he knows he would lose. He’s not a fighter, Junmyeon is. A son of the Ditch can recognize a lost battle.

But sweet Yerim, one of the youngest of Sehun’s little court of children, his... helpers. He knows which game Junmyeon is playing. If Sehun dies, Seungcheol will be in charge of the kids. But will he be able to protect them like Sehun would have? Would they resist without him? Would they survive?

“Isn’t it funny? When I first met you, you were ready to betray anyone’s trust in order to stay alive. You had no weaknesses. But now, look at you. Bound to my wishes by a bunch of snotty kids.”

“You had what you wanted. I really want to leave. I don’t want to be here when that warlock realizes I have knocked him off and stolen his precious artefact.”

“Don’t you want to know what this is?” asks Junmyeon, genuinely curious. He plays with the cuff and Sehun has the insane wish to see him trying it on. The renegade, unregistered warlocks in the Ditch curse all their artefacts so that no one can use them without facing a terrible death. Sehun would certainly find a great degree of amusement if Junmyeon were to die in such a stupid way.

“That’s something I should’ve never touched, probably,” he answers. “It’s easy for you, I’m the one Jongdae will come looking for when he wakes up.”

“Jongdae?” Junmyeon frowns and Sehun bites his tongue as the weight of guilt inside his stomach doubles. Not only he stole Jongdae’s artefact, but he probably revealed his true name to the captain of the guards of the city.

“Is that how he asked you to call him? He even told you his true name? Oh, this is better than I expected!” Junmyeon clicks his tongue smugly. “You don’t have to worry. Jongdae might be a warlock, but he certainly is a subpar one. He was just lucky enough to find this.” 

The cuff gleams in his hands, as if to confirm his words. Jongdae, a subpar warlock?

Somehow, Sehun doesn’t really believe Junmyeon. He wonders whether the older man has ever met Jongdae and seen the hint of danger at the bottom of his eyes. Black waters, impossibly deep, full of perils. Sehun can swim but he would probably drown so easily in them. But Junmyeon chuckles at a joke Sehun can’t understand.

“Why is that thing so important?” he asks, reluctantly.

“This? It’s a summoning vessel. An artefact that can be used to summon a demon. Jongdae himself isn’t especially strong, but his demon is. Impossibly powerful.” He carefully lays the pouch inside a chest and carefully locks it. He smirks. “But you don’t have to worry. Without this, he won’t be able to do anything to you. You’re safe.”

But Sehun has already forgotten about the possibility of Jongdae looking for revenge.

“What kind of demon?” he asks, feeling foolish and thrilled.

The flash of lightning fills the room.

“An ancient and powerful creature, a djinn who can control storms.”

Thunder rolls down the hill, far away, in the darkness. It rains.

“Why are you looking for him,” asks Sehun slowly.

“Jongdae used his power to threaten the king,” explains Junmyeon curtly. That doesn’t sound like Jongdae at all.

“You mean the king was just afraid of him, wasn’t he? Jongdae didn’t do anything.”

He can be proud of the flash of annoyance in Junmyeon’s eyes and not in his own.

“Aye, maybe. I wouldn’t know. I’m just a mere captain who must come back to his own barracks now.”

And Sehun must find a safe hiding place for the next few days, at least until Jongdae has been arrested by Junmyeon’s men.

“Thank you for your help, Sehun. I hope it’s not the last time you offer me your services.”

“I hope it is,” bites back Sehun, but it won’t be. A deal with the devil, indeed.

He doesn’t say goodbye. He simply disappears into the shadows and when the first flash of lightning invades the room, he’s already gone.

~

It was raining the day Sehun met Jongdae for the first time. Eight days of uninterrupted rain. Sehun remembers it well, because it wasn’t unusual for downpours to happen in the few weeks before rain seasons started, but never one this long or this violent, the sky screaming and thrashing like a mad woman while thunder drew flowers of light against the dark clouds.

The Ditch was flooded, of course. It had been flooded since the second day and only the great amount of water coming down from the sky had kept fire from eating half of the wood shacks when lightning had struck near the camp of the raiders. But that wasn’t Sehun’s problem. His main problem in the past few days had been getting hold of a set of nice clothes and convincing Seulgi, one of the girls of the House of Charity, to teach him how to use kohl.

“Did you decide to come into this line of work, Sehunnie?” she had asked, as she highlighted his cheek with pale pink and drew grungy lines of black around his eyes. “Should I start seeing you as competition? But then, you came to the wrong place. Boys stay in the House of Modesty, you know?”

She had laughed then, not the same laugh that had struck Sehun so many times when they were children, but the proper laugh of a girl of the House of Charity, skittish and flirtatious, covered by a pale hand and red nails. (So unlike her, after all.)

“Don’t worry, Sehunnie. I don’t think someone would ever take you for a whore, mine was just an innocent joke.”

Sehun had laughed with her, groaning inwardly. He really hoped it wasn’t true because the future of many people depended exactly on his ability to look like a whore. And the odds were apparently not in his favor.

Seungcheol hadn’t liked the idea either.

“It’s stupid and you’ll get yourself killed and I’ll be a single dad.”

“Mom,” had hastily corrected Sehun. He had winked to one of the dirty, snotty brats coming inside the warehouse with a handful of sweet potatoes -probably stolen from the city market - before turning back to Seungcheol. “I’m the dad.”

“Whatever! Like it will matter when you’re dead! You’re not a whore, you’re like... gross. You curse, you spit and you bite. I would never pay to have you. Hell, I wouldn’t have you if you paid me.”

And that was Seungcheol’s useful opinion on the matter. As far as friendship goes, Seungcheol was probably just angry that Sehun didn’t want to tell him what was going on, but there were secrets Sehun wasn’t willing to share, not even with his right-hand man. Especially with his right-hand man, who had, after one pitcher or two of ale, the nasty habit to let his mouth run too much for Sehun’s liking. Besides, Captain Kim Junmyeon had been clear. No one was allowed to know about this. It was something Sehun had to do on his own.

Of course, Sehun hadn’t liked the idea of stealing from a warlock in the beginning. Not-exactly-a-warlock, Junmyeon had said, but someone who deals with magic is a dangerous someone and Sehun had not spent the past twenty years steering away from danger the best he could only to start beef with someone who could potentially fry his ass if things turned sour (and they would turn sour, eventually). Except the pay was good, good enough to feed the kids for the entire winter, and that finally convinced him. That, and maybe the fact that Captain Kim Junmyeon was holding him by the balls and he couldn’t really say no to him.

“You just have to steal a jewel, nothing else. Stealing is your specialty, right Sehun? Weren’t you caught and brought here for stealing, the first time we met?”

Sehun was not a thief. He knew how to pickpocket, how to stab a man in the crowd and how to disappear in the shadows before the corpse had collapsed on the ground, but he wasn’t a fucking burglar. That required experience and talent and he had neither. He wasn’t a swindler either. (“Too honest,” Seungcheol would say. “That’s why you suck at cards too, I can read everything on your face.”)

Still, Kim Junmyeon had asked and Sehun was in no position to refuse. He sent his little mice sniffing around, told them to come back and report immediately if they heard something. The name of the warlock, he learnt, was Chen. He had arrived, like Junmyeon had told him when he had proposed - more like imposed- the job to him, less than a week ago. He had rented a small apartment between the First and the Second Crown, near the Kim&Kim bank, and hired two old kitchenmaids to take care of the house for him. Oh, and sent word for the House of Modesty asking for a boy.

And that’s how Sehun found himself walking through a thick black door, tugging nervously at the hem of his white vest and hoping he didn’t look utterly ridiculous. 

He remembers, of that day, the smell of the rain, the electricity in the air. The window was open and Master Chen - he would learn to call him Jongdae in bed - was staring at the sky, at the thick shroud of black fog, pouring and crying on the city like a mourning mother who outlived her son and turned mad from grief. When he heard footsteps, Master Chen turned to greet Sehun and his eyes widened, his lips parted in a curious, stupefied _oh_ , before finally relaxing in an intrigued smile.

“I thought I had asked for a whore,” were his exact words, and there was still the hint of a smirk on his face, a sardonic tilt to his head and a challenging light in his eyes.

“I can be one, if that’s what you want, Master Chen” was Sehun’s reply.

“I want you to call me Jongdae.”

“Jongdae?” had asked Sehun, filing the information for later.

Master Chen - Jongdae - smiled.

“Yes, that will do.”

For four days the storm continued, unbroken, but when Sehun left Jongdae’s house a pale, white sun had managed to break free from the fog’s hold. Sehun was tired and the storm was over. (The storm, for him, had just begun.)

Even now, Sehun wonders why Jongdae didn’t send him away that day. Surely he knew Sehun was not one of the boys of the House of Modesty. Everyone could have guessed at the first glance. And, even if he didn’t know, the clumsiness, the eagerness, the way Sehun twitched and stuttered and blushed, should’ve been enough to make him understand. 

Or maybe he knew and that was why he let him stay. Maybe he just found Sehun amusing. Sehun doesn’t know. He will probably never know. Jongdae will be arrested tonight, but it’s not Sehun’s problem. Jongdae was a job, nothing more and nothing less than that. Even if he touched Sehun in places where he had never allowed anyone else to touch him and the warmth of his lips still lingers on the curve of Sehun’s neck.

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He swallows the guilt because he doesn’t have time for that. Jongdae will die, but life will go on. There are things to be done, information to sell, officers to corrupt. Sehun must find a way to provide for the children waiting for him at the warehouse. He can only hope they’ve found a way to keep themselves warm or they’ll all fall sick. Chenle was coughing just three days ago, thinks Sehun, frowning. They usually light a fire in the middle of the warehouse, but something like that would be impossible with the flooding caused by the rain.

He stops in the middle of the streets, startled by a sudden noise. A closer inspection proves it to be a drenched, angry stray cat who hisses angrily at him before disappearing behind the corner. Sehun sighs. Now he’s being outright paranoid. He walks faster, eager to reach the inn where Junmyeon has already rented a room for him under a false name.

He never gets there. Something snatches him, a hand on his arm, twisting it awkwardly behind his bad as Sehun’s front is roughly pushed against the stone wall of one of the houses.

“Going anywhere, Sehunnie?”

He yelps when his face is pushed against the raw surface until the stone is scratching his cheek. The hand on his nape squeezes tight and he yelps again, softer this time, because he’s still squished against the wall and he can’t breathe. The sound loses itself in the constant pitter-patter of the rain against the ground.

His assailant lets him go and Sehun doesn’t need to turn around to know who he is. Had he been someone else, he would’ve tried to elbow him in the side, and then a knee in the balls for good measure, but he has a feeling Jongdae is angry enough with him as he is, better not to try his luck with him.

“Hi,” he says, as he finally turns around. White flashes in front of his eyes when he looks at Jongdae. White, hot rage and white flash in the sky. The rumble of thunder is immediate. “Perfect weather for a walk, isn’t it?”

He tries to smile and Jongdae’s eyes narrow, suspiciously. Sehun’s legs tremble under his stare. Jongdae looks at Sehun’s lips and jaw and then he pushes wet hair away to reveal the tiny, pink mark he’d sucked behind Sehun’s left ear. He smiles.

“That was pleasantly unexpected, Sehun. I can’t believe you had it in you. I should’ve given you more credit.”

“Wha... What?” Sehun mutters and babbles and trips on his tongue, unable to get up and think of a string of words that actually makes sense. “I mean, I...”

Jongdae’s fingers fall to his neck, massaging his nape and he immediately relaxes and leans onto the touch. They’re warm where the rain is cold, and they pull him closer to Jongdae. He doesn’t put a resistance when Jongdae kisses him. His lips, too, are warm, but his teeth are sharp. He pushes Sehun against the wall, the hands wrapped around his neck pulling him down in this messy, wet kiss, hot and cold, up and down, and when Sehun closes his eyes he can see lightning behind his closed eyelids and he doesn’t know whether it’s true or he’s just feeling it. With Jongdae, he never knows.

He moans when Jongdae grinds against him and he can feel the smile tugging at Jongdae’s lips, he can feel it in the kiss, and he smiles too. It’s fucking crazy, and dangerous, to be here, in the open, kissing a man who’s going to be hanged tomorrow if they catch him tonight, a man who did absolutely nothing, arrested just because he could have done something. A man Sehun has betrayed and his legs do give up at this thought, but Jongdae is still holding him against the wall, pinned by his hands, by the legs between his thighs, by the mouth looking desperately for his own. It’s terrible and beautiful and Sehun wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but under the rain and the thunder, in the eye of the storm, kissing Jongdae and thinking that maybe, just maybe, Jongdae is the storm.

He falls on the ground when Jongdae finally lets him go.

“Your butt will get cold,” warns Jongdae, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon.”

Jongdae just chuckles, eyes turning dark and deep and full of mysteries and monsters and shipwrecks hiding at the bottom of them. Black waters. A stormy sea.

“I will only ask you one thing, Sehun, and I hope you will give me an honest answer.” Oh, Sehun will, just like he did anything else Jongdae asked of him. It’s difficult to refuse a man like Jongdae. “Who has the cuff now?”

Sehun frowns.

“Is that what you want to know? They’re coming to arrest you! Take your stuff and leave before Captain Kim gets to you!”

“So it was Junmyeon who set you up to do this?”

Sehun blushes and looks at the ground but Jongdae doesn’t look angry, nor worried.

“Did he pay you?” he asks, still looking too amused for a wanted man.

“I am alive,” snaps Sehun, “that’s everything I got from betraying you. I just wanted to stay alive. You should want that too. Go away, Jongdae, I don’t want to see you hanged tomorrow.”

Jongdae’s laugh cascades on the ground together with the rain.

“Hanged you say? Sehunnie, I doubt there is a man who could do that to me.”

“But, without the golden cuff... He said...”

He said Jongdae used the cuff to summon a demon, a djinn, a god of thunder. He said without the cuff Jongdae would be defenseless. He’s not a warlock, just a single man. A very lucky man who happened to find a precious artefact.

What was the legend? A djinn can make three wishes come true. He wonders what Jongdae asked his djinn.

“He said? Junmyeon? That was a very bold lie but he is indeed a very bold young man.” He sighs and moves the wet fringe out of his forehead. In a rush of fondness, he does the same thing to Sehun. “The cuff will be useless to him. The djinn inside is long gone.”

“Gone?” Sehun blinks, confused. “Where?”

And Jongdae smiles like a wolf of the desert. The sky cracks and light fills the fissures, as if shining from another world.

“Where? I wonder...”

The crash of the thunder swallows his laugh.

~

Once upon a time, a boy decided to travel across the desert. He wanted to find and vanquish the Great Desert Serpent and steal his secret to become a great warlock, but he lost his way and wandered among the dunes for long days and longer nights. He never found the Great Desert Serpent, but he found a dead city in the middle of the desert. A tomb hidden under the sand, made of gold, precious amber and thin, deathly curses.

Had the boy been a great warlock, he could have lifted the curses and stolen the treasure of the tomb, but he wasn’t. He was just a boy, a city boy who dreamed of wealth and glory. And the tomb was full of both wealth and glory, of chests overflowing with gems and golden coins and magical artefacts and shiny weapons. All of this within his grasp, lying just shy of his fingertips.

He was smart, but not smart enough. He didn’t touch the treasure, but when he reached the center of the tomb and found the relics of the man buried under the sand, he couldn’t help himself. The man, a king, a warrior, a great warlock of the ancient times, had rotten and dried, shrinking like a mummy in his armor of gold and platinum. But the beautiful armor wasn’t what had captured the boy’s attention. The dead man wore a single golden cuff, richly adorned by beautiful arabesques. vines and flower, phoenix tales and leaves of Yggdrasil, the tree of life. Its light shone and pulsed, a flickering, subdued glow that seemed to whisper in the darkness. The man forgot about the curse, he forgot about common sense. 

He was smart, but not smart enough. He took the cuff for himself and, when he did, he finally understood who the man in the tomb was and what he had done.

Tied to the power of the cuff, chained to the single opal gem set in the beautiful jewel, there was a djinn. And a man who can control a djinn can control the greatest powers of the universe. The man smiled, for he was now above anyone else, even the king. The djinn, too, smiled, because the man was smart, but not smart enough.

~

They call it a thunderstorm. They call it a calamity and a natural disaster. Sehun just calls it Jongdae.

Jongdae, whose eyes are not dark anymore, but white and gold, the colors of the Garland, the colors of the gods, the color of mirages in the desert. The colors of the sky when the sky breaks, when light flashes and thunder rolls down the hills. Jongdae, whose fingers dance on Sehun’s face as he lays a last kiss on Sehun’s brow, his closed eyelids, his parted lips.

“You can’t be afraid,” says Jongdae. “Everyone in this city has a reason to be afraid, everyone but you. Because I like you.”

“Who are you?” asks Sehun to the empty street, to the cold rain. “Who are you?” he asks to flash and thunder. “Who are you?” he asks to the first light of dawn, waiting for Jongdae in the room that has slowly become _their_ room, on the bed that smells like their bodies, like sex and rain. 

Sehun waits. 

The storm lasts the whole night. Flowers bloom in the sky, white and lilac against the violaceous sky. When dawn breaks, it’s not in pink and pale blues, but white and gold. Jongdae comes back with his cuff and an air of finality in his eyes, no more black water but molten gold. He looks tired, he looks raw and wild like a beast caged for too much time. The cuff whispers outrageous things to Sehun’s ears.

“What happened?” asks Sehun, rising to his feet and running to put an arm under Jongdae’s armpit to take him to bed. Jongdae all but snarls at him, feral and loud and out of control, and in a moment Sehun finds himself pinned to the bed.

“Jongdae, what...”

“Stay,” says Jongdae, and it’s not the command in his voice what keeps Sehun there. It’s the longing, the most surprising revelation that yes, this person wants him, this person is in pain and _needs_ him in order to feel better again.

Sehun stays and he lets Jongdae kiss him like he’s never kissed him, all bared teeth and long nails scraping against his abdomen in the attempt to relieve him of his clothes as fast as humanly possible. When Jongdae takes him in his hands, Sehun keens. He can feel Jongdae’s cock, fat and heavy, rutting against Sehun’s thighs as Jongdae jerks Sehun in rough, fast tugs.

“Wait,” he says, _begs_ , “fucking wait.”

It’s already too much and the first orgasm is already resounding inside in his bones, shaking him like the echo of a harmonium inside a cathedral, low and grave and filling every empty corner inside Sehun’s body.

“Wait, I’m coming,” he says, between pants. “Too fast, slow down, it’s too soon,” he begs, and Jongdae does slow down. He also slips a legs between Sehun’s thighs and kisses him harder, nips at his lips until they bruise and crushes Sehun with his weight, using gravity to rut against him deep and hard while Sehun jerks and thrusts in his fist.

“Just come,” whispers Jongdae. “That’s the only thing you can do... Fucking little thief, you came into my house, wormed your way into my bed... You could’ve stolen the cuff anytime but you stayed... Why did you stay? For the sex?”

Sehun’s denial would be heated and vehement, but he can’t bring himself to lie at this point, not even to say his dignity. It is, after all, true.

“You let me stay,” he only says, a little angry, and Jongdae’s eyes narrow as he palms Sehun’s dick, his balls, dragging his knuckles over Sehun’s rim in a maddening way.

“I did. And I enjoyed every single moment of your stay,” he says, slyly. When his fingers finally slide inside Sehun, the boy lets out the longest, deepest sigh. His entire body spasms, torn between thrusting up into Jongdae’s fist or back against his fingers. He comes like that, hanging in the middle, overstimulated and hot and pinned against the bed but Jongdae’s whole body, unable to move even if he wanted.

His vision whitens and the room is suddenly too bright, he has to close his eyes because his head is spinning. His ass clenches against Jongdae’s fingers one last time, his cock twitching in Jongdae’s hand. Everything is too much and he expects Jongdae to let him go but Jongdae squeezes his dick again, scissoring inside him until a zing of both pleasure and pain shoots through his body and he almost starts crying.

“You don’t deserve a break,” says Jongdae, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore. His voice has lost the dangerous edge of punishment it had before. He slowly extracts his fingers from Sehun’s oversensitive body and wipes them on the boy’s belly.

Sehun breathes, deep and low, feeling like he’s taking mouthful of fire. His chest hurts and the world is unfocused at the corner of his eyes. He can feel Jongdae’s erection against his thigh, full and heavy and hot, but Jongdae doesn’t seem in a hurry to do anything about it. He thinks about getting on his knees and taking it in his mouth, but his legs feel like jelly. 

Besides, from the way he’s being stared at - hungrily, eagerly - he has a feeling Jongdae wants to fuck him today and the thought makes him shiver and clench uncomfortably. Too soon, too soon. Oh, but he wants it too.

“You knew who I was, since the beginning,” he says, and Jongdae blinks and smiles, sardonic and beautiful.

“Not from the beginning but yes, I was aware you weren’t one of the boys from the House of Modesty, or from any other houses.”

“But you let me stay,” insists Sehun. It’s unbelievable. What does he have to offer to this... to this man... Assuming Jongdae is a simple man. Sehun is starting to have his doubts.

“We both had fun,” says Jongdae, with a shrug. “I guess I liked the novelty, you know? I’ve fucked many whores in the past but it was my first time with a virgin. It was... cute. You were cute. You squirmed a lot in the beginning. That time I kept you here for three days and made you come six times in a row was really entertaining.”

“Is that all I was? Entertaining?” he asks, with a secret smirk of his own. One doesn’t let fuck scum of the Ditch for six months just because he finds it mildly entertaining. Jongdae has the decency to look away.

“I guess I grew... what is the word? Fond of you? Yes, I believe fond is the right word.” He inches closer, fitting snugly against Sehun. His erection jolts, trapped between their bodies. Sehun wonders if Jongdae knows his hips have started to move in tiny, maddening circles, seeking friction against Sehun’s thigh.

“Is that why you let me steal your cuff?”

“I didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest, but you managed to surprise me. It’s not every day that someone can resist my charms, Sehunnie.”

“Because you’re a djinn.”

Jongdae’s answer is a kiss to Sehun’s throat and one to Sehun’s lips. He shifts until his cock is free to thrust between Sehun’s legs and smiles, smug and dark and predatory.

“Clever little thing, aren’t you?”

“I wonder what gave you away,” murmurs Sehun, and it would probably be witty if he wasn’t so damn breathless. He can feel his own erection hardening again and he knows Jongdae can feel it too.

“Probably the thunderstorm,” provides Jongdae, landing another kiss, this time on Sehun’s right nipple. His tongue lingers there and Sehun closes his eyes. He feels too hot and sweaty and gross and terribly empty. He spreads his legs and push back against Jongdae’s cock, feel it drag against his rim. They both moan.

Jongdae looks at him like an artist would look at his masterpiece. Sometimes Sehun thinks Jongdae ruined him. He filled Sehun’s white canvas with black, heady desire. He filled Sehun with his cock, again, again, againagainagain and now there’s no way Sehun can go back to what he was before Jongdae set his eyes on him.

“Come on, fuck me,” he says, but Jongdae shakes his head and Sehun groans, frustrated. He hates to see him like this, in control, when Sehun is going crazy.

“Don’t be a spoiled brat, I already let you come.”

“Please,” he says, because he’s not above begging. He’s never been.

“You would look lovely in chains. We should try, someday,” he says, tracing imaginary lines on Jongdae’s throat, his chest, down to his bellybutton. “You know, I spent many years in chains but they didn’t really fit my character. On you, on the other way...”

Jongdae’s fingers find his entrance again. Sehun tips his head back and pants, harsh and throaty, and when he opens his eyes again Jongdae’s hair are framing his face and his eyes are glossy, focused only on the task of getting Sehun ready. He’s panting softly and sweat has collected on his upper lip and Sehun wants nothing more than to sit up and lick it. He does it - because he can, he can do everything he wants because Jongdae likes him, Jongdae is fond of him and that alone makes him clench on Jongdae’s fingers.

“Good boy,” says Jongdae, chasing him back to steal another kiss. He looks a little more undone now, a little frayed at the edge, a little wild and ready to conquer the world.

He drives his cock to Sehun’s entrance and stops.

“Look into my eyes, Sehun,” he says, tilting Sehun’s face upwards. “No more stealing my stuff. No more lies. I might like you, but my patience is not endless. I won’t be as forgiving the next time.”

Sehun nods fervently but Jongdae doesn’t let him go.

“Promise,” he says.

Sehun’s lip quivers. “I promise.”

Jongdae leer is almost invisible. “You better keep this one, or I’ll really put you in chains next time.”

The first thrust is smooth and deep. Sehun can feel his body yielding to Jongdae, aching for release. He pulls him closer, clenching on him just to feel his rhythm falter, to hear him stutter a curse.

Jongdae has incredible stamina and control, but there’s something about him today. Something jitterish and nervous, something wild. He’s coming undone, simply reveling in the act of sex, in an out, in and out, and Sehun can only try to match Jongdae’s brutal pace.

He doesn’t know what Jongdae is saying, words in a language Sehun doesn’t understand, broken words and syllables and maybe curses. Sehun’s name.

He says Jongdae’s name back, in between kisses and pants and moans.

The first time coming had felt like breaking a dam, sudden and unexpected and intense. This time though, it starts with a quake, deep inside Sehun. This time it’s like standing under a storm, in front of the sea, watching the tide change, little by little, the water retiring until it’s at the ebb, and then waiting there for the final wave, the tsunami. Sehun sees it coming and doesn’t move, doesn’t try to run away. He would run in front of it, if he could, but the only thing he can do now is to kiss Jongdae, to wrap his arms around him and hope that, when the wave flows away, they’ll still be together. _Be my anchor, stay stay stay,_ he thinks, _stay with me, inside me, don’t let go._ This time, when thunder strikes, it’s not white, it’s black. Like black waters closing on Sehun.

~

“What happened to the boy?”

Jongdae opens his eyes to stare cryptically at Sehun. Sunlight unveils a twinkle of gold at the bottom of his dark eyes and gives his hair a reddish hue. It makes him look vulnerable and human.

“Which boy?” he asks, rolling on his back and stretching lazily.

“The boy who decided to travel across the desert. The one who was smart, but not smart enough.”  
“Ah,” Jongdae says, his face as clear and peaceful as a pond at night. Sehun wouldn’t be able to say how deep it really is. “That boy.”

Jongdae told him that story during one hot, humid night of summer, a few months ago. The stars were bright and the line of the horizon glittered gold in the distance. On the other side of the desert, someone was fighting a war.

Jongdae had sat down, one of his scarce moment of tenderness, and combed Sehun’s hair until the boy had relaxed against him with a sated sigh. He had told him stories about the desert, about the Great Desert Serpent who lays diamond eggs under the sand, about the blue-skinned raiders who camp under the stars and the spirits of the fire who take the form of beautiful maidens with red hair to lure the travelers to their death.

“Don’t worry about the war. It won’t ever reach this city. Any army attempting to cross the desert would perish in less than two days. There are things that are not meant to be disturbed. Things lying under the sand. They won’t let them pass.”

It was true and Sehun knew it. Only a couple of lucky travelers managed to cross the desert and reach the city. Alive. But Sehun already knew all their stories, so he had yawned, not really intrigued by Jongdae’s words. Jongdae had barked a laugh and flicked his nose.

“Let me tell you a story you don’t know,” he had said. “Once upon a time, a boy decided to travel across the desert...”

Sehun had fallen asleep before he could listen to the end of the tale. He had forgotten about it, until now.

“Yes, that boy,” he says, looking in Jongdae’s eyes. “The djinn he found. It was you.”

It’s not a question, so Jongdae doesn’t answer.

“What happened to him? And to you?”

“He asked me for great powers, for more gold than he could spend in one hundred lives and for immortal life. I granted him the first two wishes and let me tell you, it wasn’t difficult because the boy was already powerful and rich on his own, but I was only able to do as much. There are limits to what I can do.”

“Limits?”

Jongdae grimaces and gets up, walking to the other side of the room to put some distance between him and Sehun. He stops in front of the window and takes a gulp of fresh air.

“True love, life and death. They’re the most sacred of limits. I cannot create life, I cannot create love and I cannot create death.” He turns towards Sehun, his eyes dark, deep and stormy. 

“I’m not going to lie to you. I am a djinn and I’ve spent two thousand years chained to the will of the owners of this golden cuff.” His right hand grazes the elaborate decorations shining on the golden surface of the cuff. “Kings, conquerors, a bunch of assholes. I was behind them all, and I hated them, every single one of them. I served them faithfully, year after year, century after century, I saw them wither and die and I saw their sons and daughters fight for the right to own my vessel. Two thousand years, Sehun. They could’ve freed me, but they didn’t. No one ever did. And I hated them, one after another, until they were too many for me to hate one by one, so I just decided to hate all the humans.”

“What did you do, Jongdae?”

“The boy, Jongin, he asked me if I knew of a way to turn him immortal. Little greedy thing, wasn’t he? They all are, but the others were smarter than him. Some rules are not meant to be broken, no matter what.”

Outside, the city is waking up to the song of hummingbirds. Sehun can hear the first carts of stocks heading towards the market, the whinnying and the nickering and the laughs of the merchant mixing with the heavy strides of the soldiers doing the morning patrol. He feels strangely calm. He loves Jongdae, he realizes, he loves Jongdae and he’s not sure he minds that he’s in love with a murderer. Jongdae takes in his blank face, searching Sehun’s eyes for a sign of fear and discomfort but he finds none. If he thinks Sehun is going to be scared by him, it’s because he’s never been in the Ditch for more than a few hours.

“Did you know a way?” Sehun asks, still curious to hear the end of the story. 

“Oh, there’s always a way for those crazy enough to put their life on the line. I told him there was a way to make him immortal, but he had to free me first. He was smart, but he wasn’t smart enough. Everyone knows you cannot trust a djinn, but he accepted.”

“Did you kill him?” asks Sehun, his voice so thin a thought would’ve been louder.

“I did not kill him, Sehun. That would’ve been below me. Besides, djinns don’t kill. Oh no, I granted his wish. I sent him to a place where he could live forever.”

“Where?”

Jongdae’s smile could rip through a man’s chest and poison him at the same time.

“Inside the other golden cuff, obviously.”

Sehun frowns, a little confused. “What... does that mean?”

“He wanted to live forever so I turned him too into a djinn,” Jongdae says, matter-of-factly, and it takes Sehun a moment to put the pieces together but when he does...

“That’s unfair! You tricked him!”

Jongdae snorts. “Hardly. I told him there was only one way and it was dangerous, but he said he didn’t care. I gave him what he wanted and I won’t be held responsible for his poor decisions. Life as a djinn is not so bad, trust you. You usually have a lot of fun for, I don’t know, ten years? After that, everyone starts regretting their decision, but it doesn’t really matter to me. Not anymore.”

Sehun stares. And stares some more. He’s not even scared or angry or sad, just speechless.

“That’s fucking cruel. You’re heartless. You’re...”

Jongdae laughs at his flustered response. “I’m a djinn, Sehun. We aren’t exactly known for being merciful and kind.”

“You’re a genius!” Jongdae’s eyes widen and he’s the only looking flustered and surprised now. “That was brilliant! I mean, how did you come up for something like that?”

“I had a lot of time to think about it, believe me.”

“But didn’t you tell me that cuff was empty?” He grabs Jongdae’s left wrist and shakes it, almost expecting a boy to come out of the golden cuff. “What did you do with him?”

“Jongin? Oh, I set him free, eventually. Two years ago. In a city on the other side of the sea. He actually cried when we went separate ways, and said he would miss me, can you believe it? Only six years as a djinn of the cuff and he was already tired, what a fucking pushover. I spent two thousand years tied to this trinket and I never once grew fond of one of my masters.” He thinks about it. “Ok, I did, but not to the point that I cried when they left me.” He thinks about it some more. “I will not say anything else, this is embarrassing.”

Sehun laughs. He hates his laugh, it sounds really dumb and ridiculous and he tries not to laugh often, but this time he laughs openly.

He stops when he’s feeling breathless and his head staggers like a drunk spinning top. “Come to think of it, if that cuff is fucking empty and you’re no longer tied to it, why did you fight the entire militia to take it back?”

Jongdae looks at the golden bar wrapped around his wrist, carefully caressing the golden surface.  
“Oh, I guess it holds some kind of sentimental value? Don’t laugh you brat, I’ve spent two thousand years tied to this thing, it is a perfectly normal reaction.”

But it’s too late, Sehun is giggling again in the most dumb, endearing way.

“Oh, I’m so relieved. I wouldn’t have known what to do if you had been, I don’t know, cruel or something like that. I mean, you’re a djinn, it’s not like I can say no to you, but it would’ve been a bit uncomfortable to introduce you to my friends.”

Jongdae shoves him on the bed playfully before he flops on top of him. “To be honest, I wanted to leave him in the lamp for a few centuries, but I kinda grew fond of him,” he muses.

“The way you grew fond of me?” Jongdae elbows him in the stomach at the insinuation and Sehun tries to kick him in retaliation but Jongdae just pushes him off the bed and Sehun lands on the hard, cold floor with a dull thump and a curse.

“I didn’t like him that way or I would’ve taken him with me, don’t you think? I just... In the end he was too pitiful to leave him there. I stole all the gold I had given him, though, and his name. And now I’m kind of rich..”

“So what do you want to do now?” asks Sehun.

Jongdae doesn’t answer.

“Jongdae?”

“You know,” Jongdae says, weighing every single word carefully, “I might have threatened the king yesterday night. I got what I wanted back,” the cuff shines at his wrist but he’s not looking at it, he’s looking at Sehun, “but at the same time I made some powerful enemies.”

“I thought you were stronger than anyone else in this city.”

 

Jongdae chuckles. “I am strong, Sehun, not unbreakable. Your captain Junmyeon made me realize quite clearly I will be no longer welcome in this city unless I... do something to earn the trust of the king.”

His words drill a hole in Sehun’s chest, there where he keeps the nice things in his life. The child at the warehouse, his friendship with Seulgi and Donghae, Seungcheol’s antics when he gets drunk, his sister’s soft hands. Jongdae.

“What did they ask you to do?” he asks, not daring to look at Jongdae, too afraid of the answer.

“I was offered an ultimatum. I can leave the city to never come back or… I can do something for the king. A little favor, nothing more.”

“So you’ll come back?”

Jongdae takes Sehun’s face in his hands and doesn’t kiss him, he waits for Sehun to kiss him first. He lets Sehun choose the pace, slow and languid in a way Jongdae can never be. _Stay_ , he wants to say. Jongdae closes his eyes. It’s going to rain again, tonight.

“I will come back, if you want. I will come back for you.”

~

**omake**

His name is Yifan and Jongdae loves him, at first. Jongdae loved him. Jongdae will hate him for the rest of his life.

Yifan has a sheepish, shy smile. Yifan is tall and powerful and Jongdae is in love. Yifan is the one who ties him to the cuff. Yifan asks for power, money and to be remembered forever. Jongdae gives him power. He gives him money. He smiles.

“You will die and the people around you will die and their sons and daughters will remember about you but they, too, will die. The world will forget about you someday. But I will not die. I will live forever. I will live until I’m the only one who still remembers you, the only one who could tell your story. And when that time comes, I’ll never tell your story to anyone, Yifan.”

“This is not what I wished for,” says Yifan.

“Oh,” Jongdae smiles, “this is exactly what you wished for. You asked to be remembered forever and you will be remembered forever. By me and only me. The time for your wishes is over, Yifan.”

His image fades away like colored smoke. He will never appear in front of Yifan’s eyes again.

Yifan’s empire disappears, quietly, two hundred years later, choked by the sand. A djinn can make a man powerful, but it will be the power of the djinn and not the power of the man. Yifan’s descendants destroy each other in pitiful attempts to gain Jongdae’s favors until, one by one, they die. The cuff changes many owners before it is, finally, forgotten.

 

His name is Yixing and Jongdae hates him. Jongdae hated him. Jongdae will love him forever.

Yixing finds the cuff by chance, under the sand. He asks for water for his people, fertility for the land and the knowledge to heal for himself.

“You already wasted two wishes. Keep one for yourself,” says Jongdae, trying desperately to find a single fault in this man, but Yixing smiles and shakes his head.

“I want to make sure my people will survive even after I’m gone,” he says.

Jongdae sighs. What a pitiful fool, this man is. What an even biggest fool Jongdae is, to have fallen in love with him.

“Then I will give you a knowledge you will be able to share with his descendants and my most sincere wishes that your tribe will prosper in the future.”  
His image fades away like colored smoke. He will never appear in front of Yixing’s eyes again.

Yixing doesn’t fall in love with Jongdae. He’s in love with his people, a little tribe of raiders and herdsmen, of wild warriors and women with a big smile. He’s in love with horses and sheep and kids with glass beads in their hair. He builds a town for them, a tiny town in the middle of the desert, and hides the cuff under the sand, again, and Jongdae sleeps for many years.

 

His name is Chanyeol and he wishes for a flying carpet and a map of all the treasures of the world.

“What about the third wish?” asks Jongdae.

“I don’t have a third wish right now,” says Chanyeol. His eyes crinkle when he smiles and a dimple appears on his cheek. He reminds Jongdae of Yixing, though many years have passed, but Yixing has never smiled at him like this. “It’s so much funnier to have you traveling with me, anyway.”

And travel they do. Beyond the desert, beyond the sea, beyond the fire mountains and the deepest rifts and back again.

“Tomorrow we’ll finally reach my city. I can’t wait… I want to come back and propose to the one I love,” says Chanyeol one night, while looking at the stars. “He would have married me anyway, but I wanted to be able to buy him a house and nice clothes and everything he needs before I actually proposed.”

Jongdae thinks about the men he loved, about Yixing and Yifan, and wishes he had found someone who loved him back. “He is a lucky man.”

“I am the lucky man,” says Chanyeol with a smile. “Do tell, what would happen if I decided to set you free?”

Jongdae thinks about it, confused by the sudden change of topic.

“Me? I guess… I would be free?” He tries to remember his life before Yifan’s magic turned him, a djinn of the storm, into a slave of his wishes. “Maybe I would try to find my people.”

Chanyeol nods. “I’ve been thinking about setting you free. You’re a precious friend to me, Jongdae.”

Oh, and Jongdae wants to be free. He desperately wants to be free. Except… Except Baekhyun is sick and he is dying. And Chanyeol is crying.

“Ask me to save him, Chanyeol. Ask me to save him and I will.”

Chanyeol shakes his head and there are tears in his eyes. “I can’t, I can’t. You’re my best friend, Jongdae. You deserve to be free. What happened to your dream, finding your people again? If I don’t do this, who will?”

“My people have disappeared many years ago, Chanyeol. There’s no one left. But you’re my best friend and the first master who treated me like a friend and not like a slave. This is the only way I can help you.”

He looks at Chanyeol’s beloved, consumed by the fever. He’d like to see the smile that made a man like Chanyeol fall in love.

“It’s your wish, Chanyeol. My last gift for you. You taught me the meaning of hope. Now I know that somewhere, in this big, wide world, I will meet someone who will be able to make me free.”

Chanyeol wipes his tears with the back of his hands and sniffles. “Wait for me Jongdae, I will give the cuff to Baekhyun when he feels better and I will ask him to free you.”

Jongdae doesn’t tell him it won’t work. As sincere as Chanyeol’s wish is, it’s _his_ wish, not Baekhyun’s. As his image fades away like colored smoke, he knows will never appear in front of Chanyeol’s eyes again. He says goodbye with a smile.

 

His name is Jongin and he’s smart, but not smart enough. He’s also sweet, kind and quiet. He likes to read and he doesn’t like bitter food.

Jongdae takes him at the end of the world. “Jongin,” he says, “I wish for you to be free.” 

It’s the only thing he could ever wish for. He’s been tied to the cuff for too long, he’s granted so many wishes, that he would never be able to make one. Besides, he has his own powers. He will be alright.

“Thank you,” says Jongin. “I’m sorry if I tried to use you.”

Jongdae’s heart feels light. “What will you do now? Didn’t you tell me you have a brother who’s looking for you?” he asks.

Jongin scratches his head. “It’s… complicated. But I don’t want to go back. I want to see the world.”

“Then go, be free. The world is yours.”

“Promise me you won’t ever tell my family where I am. I’ll come back on my own, when I’m ready.” Jongin’s eyes are big and serious and Jongdae can’t say no to him. “I promise, Jongin.”

He turns on his heels and leaves. His image disappears behind the dunes. He hopes he’ll never appear in front of Jongin’s eyes again.

 

His name is Sehun. He smells like a cheap prostitute but he doesn’t remotely looks like one. He lacks the allure, the experience and the weightless grace. But Jongdae likes him and so Sehun stays.

Jongdae likes him even more when he finds out the boy is only trying to earn money to feed the children of the slums. He must have been one of them, in the past, and he got attacked. How cute. When he’s not having sex with Jongdae he sells information down in the Ditch. Oh, and apparently he works for Kim Junmyeon.

“What game are you playing?” Jongdae asks when he visits Kim Junmyeon. “The boy is cute, but not enough to tempt me.”

“And yet he’s sleeping in your bed,” is the laconic answer.

It’s a dangerous game, Jongdae knows. The king wants something from him, something he doesn’t want to give up. He doesn’t need a weakness, not now, not like this. And Sehun screams weakness, he screams danger and trap and many other things Jongdae can’t hear when Sehun tilts his head and looks at him with confused eyes. They’re both trying to figure the other out.

“Keep Sehun out of this,” he only says, in the end. “He’s a person, not a toy. You can’t play with him.”

Junmyeon laughs. “You shouldn’t play with him either, but that’s not stopping you.”

Jongdae frowns. He doesn’t understand why Junmyeon is involving a boy from the Ditch into their little feud, but he doesn’t care. He likes Sehun and he’s going to keep him. He doesn’t regret it, not even when the boy actually steals from him.

That night, after talking with Sehun, Jongdae storms inside the palace, bringing forth rain, wind and rolling thunder.

“I thought I had told you to leave the boy alone.”

Junmyeon raises his eyes from the chessboard. “I told you to do the same thing, but you didn’t. What are we going to do now?”

Minseok too looks up, sending Jongdae a seraphic smile. “Yes, what are we going to do, Jongdae? The boy must really mean something, for you to come here and throw such a tantrum. Did you grow fond of him? It would be really terrible if something was to happen to your friend.”

Jongdae growls and Junmyeon gets up. “Your majesty please, let me handle this,” he tries, but the king shushes him with a single gesture, before turning towards Jongdae.

He knows what they are going to ask him. They want him to find Jongin, the king’s little brother. Jongin, who’s smart, but not smart enough.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you where he is,” he says, but it sounds defeated, even in his own head.

“I’m not asking you to tell me where he is. I’m asking you to bring him back to me.” Minseok, the king, looks straight at him. “Do that and you’ll be able to live here, in this city, with your boy.”

“What if I simply take Sehun and leave?”

It won’t work. It could never work. Sehun wouldn’t leave his friends in the Ditch. He has so many children to take care of.

“I’m being reasonable, Jongdae. I’m not asking you to fight a war for me, I only want to see my brother again. Bring him back and it’ll be the last thing I ask of you. Bring him back and I’ll let you go. What do you say, Jongdae?”

The rain falls. Jongdae misses Sehun so much. He will miss Sehun so much. He will come back, for him.

Two days later, Jongdae bids Sehun goodbye at the doors of the city.

“Will you really come back?” Sehun asks, and his voice is raspy and low, almost as if he’s been crying, but his eyes are dry. The sons of the Ditch don’t cry.

“Make a wish and I’ll grant it for you.”

“I wish for you to come back.”

Jongdae leaves. His image fades away like colored smoke behind the dunes. He will definitely appear in front of Sehun’s eyes again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on lj @/aprilclash and on twitter @/aprilclaws, I'm always willing to ramble about exo and sechen <3


End file.
